That One Time the Asparagus Didn't Self-Destruct
by conjure-at-your-own-risk
Summary: There is a town on the coast that is the murder capitol of the world! (Fake) Psychic detective Percy Jackson and (real) environmental lawyer Grover Underwood are there to solve those murders…and to have snacks. Psych Fusion.


**AN: I have been dreaming about this for a while. I was binge-watching Psych again and this happens. Anyway: I think I did Percy some injustice because he feels more like Shawn in this. **

**This could be better, too. **

**Thank you, N, for the title. **

**Disclaimer**: Does it look like I'm writing Magnus Chase? And I have no clue what Steve Franks is up to, so that crosses off Psych, too.

**Title**: That One Time the Asparagus Didn't Self-Destruct

**Word Count**: 1K

**Summary**: There is a town on the coast that is the murder capitol of the world! (Fake) Psychic detective Percy Jackson and (real) environmental lawyer Grover Underwood are there to solve those murders…and to have snacks. Psych Fusion.

* * *

><p>"I just ate," Grover complained.<p>

"You always just ate," I said. I slapped my hand on my desk and brought it back up to smooth the pain out. "Face it, man. We live in a murdocity—people die, like, every week! This city is built on the money of dead people!"

"'Murdocity' isn't a word," he frowned. Grover reached for his cell and dangled it in front of me. "Don't make me call Frank to make sure."

I sighed and rolled my chair in front of the desk. It was rude to use a mutual friend to settle an argument, even if he was on his honeymoon. "Fine, go ruin my fun while there's no murder or crime out to help us pay rent." I stopped in front of the large windows and stared desperately outside to the sunny boardwalk. "What do you think the chances are of some stuffy white guy croaking? You know, a rich one?"

"Percy!"

"What?" I swirled my chair to face him. Grover was sitting on my desk. His legs were folded in his lap, his shoes and leg braces off with his crutches leaning against the desk. He really hadn't changed much since we started our fantastic business of me being a really cool detective, and him making sure that I hadn't crossed too many legal lines. He was still short and a persistent vegetarian with a love for sugary snacks. But he stood a bit straighter now, and he no longer fainted over blood.

(Which was a really good thing because our last case was really messy; a stabbing victim that was also an artist. Man that was a lot of red paint, too.)

Grover was starting to evolve a little and I was really proud of him.

"Stop staring at me like that," he said. "You're looking at me like I'm a corpse or something." Grover shuddered and rubbed his arms.

"Ah, yes," I said, adopting an accent. I raised my fingers to my temples and closed my eyes. "I see something…something about your future…yes, yes…Grover Underwood, you are a _nerd…"_

I opened my eyes and saw his disappointed face. "We really need to find you a case. This isn't healthy for you."

"But we manage, _I_ manage. Now pass me the skittles." I crooked two fingers and caught the small bag that was thrown at me. I opened it with my teeth saying: "Lighten up, I can use this time for some projects." I poured the candy into my palm and started to pick out the blue ones to eat. They were the only ones that I could happily eat.

"Like the hammock?" Grover asked, skeptic.

"What hammock?"

"_That_ hammock, Percy." He pointed to the mess of knotted ropes that were conveniently in a box next to me.

Oh! I tilted my head to the side and stared at the inside contents. "I think I got bored with that or something. The directions were in Latin. I think."

"Swedish, Percy, it's in Swedish. We bought it at Ikea."

I clamped a hand over my heart. "Oh my god! You're psychic! Well, there goes my job, my life, my—"

Grover regarded me with a raised eyebrow. "That's it, I'm calling Detective Chase." He picked up his phone and started dialing.

"No!" I launched the chair with a kick to the wall and missed the desk completely. "Don't!" I picked up one of his crutches and blocked him. "Why would you call the scary blonde detective? I swear, she is this close to finding out—"

"You got Grace believing that you're psychic," said Grover. "And that was even after he arrested you."

I got myself ready to say that it was harder to do the psychic detective stuff around her. She was distracting and had killer shoulder blades and killer aim with her gun to match. She was the sort of person that conmen like me avoided because she _will_ find out one day, and I _will_ be put to jail because of her. "But—"

His phone started ringing.

We fought and he kicked my chair away.

"_No!"_ I called out in a Star War fashion as Grover answered.

"Hi, Detective Chase, we were wondering if there were any cases that you need us for?" he asked.

* * *

><p>The sandwiches were beautiful.<p>

I really meant it. They were made out of thick, fluffy multigrain bread that was lightly toasted. In between the bread were fresh slices of meats, juicy tomatoes, and lettuce with pepper, all sprinkled with spices and I detected a hint of…

"We can eat that, right?" I asked my pseudo-lawyer.

Grover was staring at the dead body that was next to the platter of food. "Um."

"Now that looks good!" My eyes followed a CSI guy that was holding a tray of grilled asparagus and dumped it in a bag to tag. I could smell the fresh lemon juice that was used. "I wonder…"

"Don't even think about it, Jackson," Detective Chase warned. She was dressed in dark slacks and a dark blue dress shirt that brought out her sparkling gray eyes and shinning blonde hair. I knew that because of my uncanny powers of observation.

"Where's Grace?" Grover asked.

"He has the flu, or that was what his girlfriend told me." Chase rolled her eyes. Her gaze turned to me and she crossed her arms under her chest, propping her hip against the side of the metal table. "Got anything for me?"

My mouth opened and vague noises came out. "I, uh, _ummm_…" I hastily eyed the place for clues and tried to mentally construct something. Okay, there was a dead guy in a chef's uniform. No visible puddles of blood, which meant that there were no stabbings, and that was the same for the lack of bullet holes and shells.

Okay, okay, doing good so far.

I skipped around the murder scene, accidentally nudging the yellow place cards. One of the guys in a CSI outfit swore at me.

"Hush!" I bellowed. I dramatically pointed at his face. "The spirits are telling me _things!"_ I emphasized with a jab. "Do they talk to you, too? Huh, huh?"

He stepped away from me.

Good. I nabbed his bag of evidence out of spite and saw what was inside.

_Interesting_.

I gave him back the evidence and went to the dead guy's work station. There was more asparagus and a chopping board and…

I pointed at the dead guy. "This man was murdered!"

"We're not paying you for the obvious," Chase told Grover.

"With vegetables!" I jumped on a rickety stool and held my arms out for balance. "This man was murdered by his true love—taste testing food, which was poisoned! I suggest you check his ex-wife, Detective!"

The shock on her face made my day. It was one thing to get Grace to believe me, but hyper logical Annabeth Chase was another.

I wasn't going to tell her that there were bits of crystalized white powder that looked too big to be salt that was on his fingers and food and equipment. Or the pale band of skin that was around his finger meant a fresh divorce, and that the odd scratches on his face meant that it was a messy one. Or that his cat was Satan's personal pet. I was learning more toward the angry ex-wife.

That was a good read, but I was usually better.

_Come on!_ I kicked my brain to work harder. Chase was staring at me as if I wasn't a sandwich, but maybe a corpse that she didn't quite figured out the cause of death for. It made things kinda weird because I was also staring at her—but in a cool deductive way, I swear! It was just that her top did wonderful things to her clavicle and the eyeliner that she was using really drew attention to her eyes…that were looking straight at mines.

I did the only thing I could to diffuse the sudden awkward tension that came from looking straight into someone's eyes.

"But wait! There's more!" I jumped off the stool and Grover didn't catch me.

Some best friend and partner in crime he was.

I groaned and raised my head from the concrete floor. _Concrete_, why did it have to be _concrete_ of all things? Fluffy rugs that could soften my impact would be a much better choice for a room. My nose was throbbing in pain but there wasn't any blood this time. "Dude, we practiced that."

Grover and Chase helped me up to my feet.

"Does he always compromise a crime scene like that?" she asked him.

"You're planning on staying at the precinct for a while, right?" he answered.


End file.
